R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I wore a sport jacket to church yesterday; first time down here this year. I was slightly taken aback when an usher said "hello" to me as I entered. Hmmmm.

It's a nice jacket, purchased recently at a local thrift store. I have to assume it was once owned by a short man with an eye for fashion. Apparently, he favored pastel colors and checked prints. He's probably dead now. Oh well.

I was surprised, and initially disappointed, when the priest and his minions headed down the aisles to bless and tinkle us with holy water. My first thoughts concerned the damage the water could cause to my "new" coat, but I quickly reconciled that, for the faithful, holy water is a fine substitute for dry cleaning. I quickly dismissed my original strategy of ducking the shower, and chose to brazenly accept the drizzle head on.

I am blessed with so many things, now including my new jacket; dry cleaned by the Lord.

Oh yeah, and the coat only cost twenty five cents.



I also got 2 shirts that day; one casual, one for exercising. Geeg got a dress, a beach cover up, and a pair of pants. She splurged and paid for everything; one dollar and fifty cents; 6 quarters.

What a country! I should have retired years ago!

GO AWAY!

As previously stated, Geeg and I have tried to make some healthy life style changes. Significant amounts of weight have been lost because we eat less than we used to. A key factor towards that end is to have less food in the house.

We have become legendary in our efforts to save money by buying clothes and furniture in Thrift Stores. Rest assured that none of the money saved is used to buy groceries. While our refrigerator and kitchen cabinets remain better stocked than Amy's, they no longer bulge with goodies.

We have simplified. We are minimalists.

Unless we are with people. Unless we entertain or are entertained. On those occasions, chips, appetizers, hearty meals, wine, dessert, after dinner drinks - the whole nine yards.

And, if we are the entertainers, leftovers, the scourge of the serious dieter.

We had a guest for dinner Wednesday night. We faltered, we flashbacked.

I was ashamed and appalled when Geeg came home early from choir practice last night, and caught me red handed in bed with a bag of chips. Oh, the humiliation, oh how far the mighty have fallen.

So, it is with heavy heart the that I request that you all just go away and stay away. Tempt me no more with the opportunity to indulge in the heady aroma of chicken parmigiana, Italian butter cookies, tortilla chips with just a hint of lime.

No, wait. Who am I to contradict Barbra Streisand? People, people who need people, are the luckiest people in the world!

Bring your appetites; I'll curb mine. Was it Nancy Reagan who encouraged me to "just say no?"

I can and will live wthout gluttony. Family is the bread of my life, friends the water.

(Which explains why I'm thirsty all the time, but rarely am I hungry.)

So, we'll walk this morning, maybe a little farther than yesterday. We will eat a little less. We will enjoy the memories of occasions with family and friends, and look forward to many more.

THIS SPACE FOR CORRECTIONS

Prior to wading into the world of blog, I occasionally entertained (myself) with rhyming poems, ditties. One such effort proposed a personal weight loss program; 23 pounds in 23 months. As the 23rd month (June) rapidly approaches, I must provide two pertinent corrections, with apologies for my poor proofreading skills. I thorough review of my notes reveals that I intended to lose 2.3 pounds in 23 years. Obviously, any more accelerated wight loss program would be dangerously unhealthy.
I am happy to report I am well on my way towards meeting my intended goal!

No, I'm kidding. (I'm a kidder.)

I am pleased and proud to report that I have lost 23 pounds during my winter here in Sunny Florida! I did it the old fashioned way; less food, more excercise. No liposuction or amputations involved. Daily beach time has proved beneficial since alcohol is discouraged (it's illegal), and the seagulls make it very uncomfortable to eat since they are inclined to pester and steal food.
An almost daily regimen of 100 crunches and a 4 mile walk with Geeg (who also is losing weight) also contribute to my success.

I've not yet been mistaken for Brad Pitt, perhaps because I can't grow a mustache. A description of "ripped" is probably a gross exaggeration, but I have lost most of my Buddah Belly. Alas, I remain pleasantly plump, but the new life style should provide more positive results.

No recent photos will be provided.
Today's gospel was about St. Thomas, AKA "Doubting Thomas."
Blessed are those who believe without seeing.

(Special thanks to "Double L," my inspiration.)

Dear Pope Benedict

It is Benedict, right? (You guys change so often.) How was your Easter? Your big day to shine; great photo ops for you and your red shoes!



I'm wondering if it's time for another Vatican Council. I think Pope John XXIII had a fairly successful one. (Will there ever be a Pope John XXIV? Twenty four is my favorite number.)

As an avid church goer, I have some suggestions:

1. Maybe a little less pomp and circumstance. You've come a long way, baby, but let's lose some of the colorful robes. I think a priest looks his best; pious and dignified, in a simple black suit. It's okay to keep the collar.

2. No second collections. If you need extra money, just ask us to put more in the basket the first time. Coming around for seconds seems like a cheap retail trick. You're too good for that.

3. Minimum age for altar persons. They should be old enough to defend themselves, or at least old enough to negotiate. (Have you seen "Doubt"?)

4. Consider "best practices" from other religions - a common approach to "continuous improvement" in other industries. One of my daughters can get you some information regarding the Quakers if you want.

5. Let's settle the whole "communion" issue. Take a poll of folks that have chosen the religious life. Not "cafeteria catholics" like me, but Priests and Brothers. (Don't include nuns; they can be fanatical. (Have you seen the movie "Doubt"?) Ask them if communion is in fact real, or just a symbol. Please publish the results.

6. I applaud John for switching the third person of God from a ghost to a spirit. That showed real insight. I suggest you get the best "bang for your buck" with the kids in our tribe and play up this "spirit" notion. Not so much religion, but mysticism, magic. I encourage you to request assistance from David Blaine on this matter. You may already be familiar with His work; I suspect he is the second coming. Perhaps you would prefer to work with Cris Angel, even though "Angel" is his name, not his lot in life.


That's all I've got. I'm good with most of the commandments and the sacraments. I'll skip the abortion question for now, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on euthanasia. (Could solve a lot of problems, especially here in Florida, the unofficial home of "I've fallen and I can't get up.)

ANGELS IN THE OUTFIELD

Two little boys playing catch with their Grandpa at the Little League field across the street.

Miles and Landon.

Actually, there are angels everywhere I look. Toddlers frolic in the surf, giggling endlessly.

Miles and Landon.

Brothers oohing and aahing in the WalMart toy department.

Miles and Landon.

Little guys getting restless in church, but pulling it all together to offer a sign of peace.

Miles and Landon.

Three sisters rolling their eyes and tossing dagger stares at each other in a restaurant.

Well, that was a long time ago...................

Boys flying kites, riding bikes, throwing sand, kicking soccer balls, stuffing donuts in their mouths................................Miles and Landon.

Happy Easter. I think I'm just about ready to go home.

Beach Patrol

Palm Sunday weekend. The sun is strong; there's a party on the beach. It's unusually crowded.

Even as the late afternoon exodus commences, the proximity of my stake in the sand remains uncomfortably close to a pair of chatty middle age ladies. They are discussing their relationships; I cannot help but overhear. My book remains open; the pages remain unturned.

Betty, divorced, is dating a kind and considerate widow. Unfortunately, she sees no future with Barney; he's too set in his ways.

Wilma is enthralled by many attributes of her beau,, Fred, but she has some concerns. He is short and dumpy.

I take umbrage at this description, and, in my head, quickly review my duties and responsibilites as Self Appointed Temporary Beach Patrol Monitor. I conclude that it is appropriate for me to come to the defense of the maligned absent Fred.

I rise up to my full and formidable height of just under five and one half feet, and approach my neighbors.

"I couldn't help but overhear," I explain, "Fred sounds like a nice guy. So what if he's short."

Wilma was taken aback, but quickly recovers and defends her position.

"You don't understand," she says, "he's really short. He's only four foot two."

Now it is my turn to be taken aback. "Oh my, that is short, but short people need love too," I weakly argue.

"He weighs 312 pounds," exclaims Wilma, almost triumphantly.

I am losing enthusiasm for my point of view, but I persevere, reiterating that short, fat people usually have great personalities.

"I think he killed my dog," she replies.

"You think, but you don't know for sure," I say. "Sounds like conjecture."

"He's a Yankee fan," Wilma shrieks!

Stunned, I counted to 10, then tempered and edited my response. (Unedited, my response would have been "crucify him!" After all, it was Palm Sunday weekend.)

Aw heck, I didn't count to 10, I didn't temper my remarks. Short, fat, dog killing Yankee fans don't deserve to walk the face of the earth.

I encouraged Wilma to change her locks and phone number, and apply for the Witness Protection Program.

Opening Day; hope springs eternal. Now batting, Pablo Sandoval, switch hitting rookie third baseman, who also plays first base and catcher. Remember the name!

GO GIANTS! IT'S MY TURN, BABY!!!

AMOS & ANDY

Andy is my brother-in-law. I'm Amos, the "wannabee" working on my tan.

(Alternate titles considered for this blog were "Driving Mr. Daisy" and my bride's suggestion, "Anus & Andy." I think I'm insulted.)

Andy has been our house guest, on and off, for the last couple of weeks. He seemed satisfied with the accomodations, though he was disappointed that there was no chocolate on his pillow every night. (He didn't like our soap, shampoo or cereal either.)

We tried to prepare for his visit by inquiring about some of his wants and needs:

Patty- "What do you like to drink?"

Andy - "White wine, Pinot Grigio."

We bought Pinot Grigio. Upon his arrival, we offered Andy a glass of wine:

Andy - "Sure, I'll have some wine. Give me the red."

Patty - "I thought you liked white wine."

Andy - " I do, but I can't drink it. It gives me gout."

Okay...............................

Conversation is always fun with Andy. He only hears half of what you say, and he only remembers half of what he hears.

We convinced Andy not to rent a car during his visit; hence the "Mr. Daisy" reference. In the course of two weeks, we toured much of southern and central Florida, as Andy broadened our horizons. I didn't think there was any place but the beach down here.

We visited Aunt Jean, cousin Diane, and Hansi, the Wonder Dog. During that trip, Sheriff Andy reminded us that you can take Andy out of law enforcement, but you can't take law enforcement out of Andy. He regaled us with numerous stories of his detective cases, and threatened me numerous times with "citizen's arrest" for my driving practices. (Each successive threat was less amusing than the previous one.)

We took Andy half way for a play date with his friend Richard; a stay over! All reports suggest that Andy behaved himself. Such a good boy! (He forgot his pills; as I said, forgetfullness and not hearing were prevalent during his visit.)

We went to a spring training baseball game. Only we could pick a game that we would be delayed by rain, during a time of extreme dought in this area. Oh well....

And we visited Andy's friends, Bob & Judy. They live in a place called "The Villages," a beautiful "Adult Living" community. It was like Disney World for geriatrics, or maybe the Twilight Zone. Old fashioned architecture, piped in music on the streets, restaurants at every corner. The main form of transportation is golf carts. Over 75,000 people, no kids. Median age of the population must be close to 75. The typical house probably has one bedroom, but 3 bathrooms.

Despite all of our travel, (if I ever reach desperation here, I will stand outside with a sign that says"will drive for food") and numerous visits to restaurants, ( thanks to the generousity of Andy and his friends) he did find some time to "veg" at the beach, walking a mile in my shoes.

I suppose we should be happy we only provided Andy with room, board, and occasional car service. Richard's wife. Bea, was forced to sacrifice a pint of blood to satisfy his insatiable appetite for amusement, getting him a "free" ticket to a flight museum.

Andy has an adorable tee shirt with a picture of all of his grandchildren on it. People react to it with "ooh's and ah's." He also has another tee shirt; slightly risque. It refers to an aging squirrel and his testicles. This one elicits mild laughter, unless of course you happen to wear it in a Baptist thrift store. The clerk was more appalled than amused. Oh, Andy!

But Andy is gone now, driving home with Caroline, his own "Miss Daisy." We are once again "empty nesters." Of course, the first thing we will do is sell the bed in the guest room, to discourage him from ever coming back!

No, just kidding. (I'm a kidder.) The sheriff is welcome back any time; he was a generous and gracious guest. His friends quickly became our friends, and we all miss him; everybody except the clerk at the Baptist thrift store.

Can I get an "AMEN!"